


Semper Fi

by titC



Series: Lucy [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: A good dog - Freeform, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, some moral conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 13:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Frank realizes some things, Matt is angry, the dog is sad, bad guys get their due...





	Semper Fi

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Beguile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile) for betaing!  
> For my DaredevilBingo prompt _underwear is comfortable_.

Red was an idiot.

He was back on his bullshit, jumping from roof to roof with nothing but a long-sleeved shirt and a stupid cloth mask and, okay, he was wearing decent combat boots. But he wasn’t wearing any protection, and he probably shouldn’t be doing any fighting what with having been shot only a few weeks before, meditation voodoo or not. Well, maybe Frank wasn’t the posterboy for good post-op behavior, but he had enough experience to know what should be done, you know? Red was keeping it light, Frank could see that – finishing quickly, avoiding full-body contact whenever he could by throwing his batons more than usual, only engaging on one-on-one by (for once) being smart and luring opponents where he wanted them instead of jumping right in the middle. Still.

And Frank, Frank shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be watching him through the scope on his rifle. He'd come to the Kitchen to find information and now here he was, a real creep freezing his ass off above a bakery trying to spot the guy he’d – shit. It was better this way, all right?

Frank had seen Turk, done some light threatening, the usual, and he’d gotten his intel. He shouldn't be here now. Red was doing fine. He hadn’t called about Lucy, or about anything else. Lucy was good; she never was alone at the shelter. Carlie had tried to ask why she hadn’t seen Murdock in a while and Frank must have made some face because she never asked again, and that was fine by him. Just fine. He still worked at the shelter because it was convenient and he didn’t have to hide from Carlie or Naye, and that was enough for him. Maybe they were afraid of him now. They should. They all should. Skull wasn’t for Halloween.

Ah, fuck, one of the assholes Red was after was pulling out a gun. Frank didn’t think and shot the asshole, and the other guy still standing ran away. Dammit, he’d revealed himself. Red turned his head in his direction, then got a phone out of a pocket. He couldn’t be calling – not after weeks without a peep, he couldn’t be – no. He was calling the NYPD, of course. Red stayed there until the officers reached the mouth of the alleyway, keeping an eye on the guys he’d downed and putting pressure on the shoulder of the guy Frank had shot. Then he vanished between a fire escape and a dumpster, but he wasn’t quick enough that Frank didn’t see the red gash on his upper back.

Yeah, he was back on his bullshit all right.

 

It was impossible to avoid Manhattan, even if he didn't count his operations as the Punisher.

Frank suspected Carlie kept giving him errands to do there on purpose, from fetching dogs to getting paperwork filed at _that_ particular office and not any other. He still managed to avoid going anywhere near St Agnes or Red’s apartment, but he had to drive past the courtroom once and Naye demanded he bought sausages from Nelson’s Meats because she swore up and down she’d been told they were the best in town and since he was going in the area… She wasn’t as clever as she thought she was. It was see-through as far as manipulations went.

After the office bombing, Nelson, Murdock and Page had temporarily relocated back in the butcher’s shop, and Frank didn’t want to go there. Karen would be pissed he’d never answered her messages, Nelson would forget he was terrified of Frank Castle long enough to glare at him, and Murdock… no. He just didn’t want to see them. Maybe he could get someone to buy the sausages for him. Or just go early, because Red never came in early after a night out. Yeah, that wouldn’t be cowardly. Prepare it like a mission, have a cooler in the truck so the sausages could wait a couple hours before he got back to the shelter. Assess the best time to go there, hide his face but not so much it would be suspicious. Yeah, he could do this.

Turned out he couldn’t. As soon as he’d come in the shop, an older woman behind the counter zeroed in on him and kept whispering furiously to the guy serving the clients while pointing at Frank. He could only make out, “nah, mom,” and “it can’t be the same one,” and then it was his turn.

“I’ll have,” he started.

But then the woman put her fists on her hips and said, “Where did you get that scarf?”

Frank shrugged. “Gift.”

She narrowed her eyes. “From?”

“Mooom,” the other Nelson said. He looked like lawyer Nelson. “Let our client be, will you? I’m sorry, my mother knitted a scarf just like this one a few years ago but she’s about to go enjoy her retirement upstairs, right mom?”

Of course that’s when the doorbell jingled and lawyer Nelson came in and fuck, he’d never get those sausages now. He saw Frank, narrowed his eyes in warning, and plastered a smile on his face. Fucking liars. Fucking lawyers.

“Hey Theo, that’s a client Matt and I defended. I’ll steal him a couple minutes so we can catch up, all right?” Lawyer Nelson’s fingertips were like a pointy, pointy vise on his arm as he dragged Frank to the empty office above the shop. “Frank,” he said once the door was closed. “Talk.”

“Not here to talk.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Sausages.”

“Seriously?”

“Boss lady wants sausages.”

“Wow. I didn’t think you’d be that much of an asshole, but you really are. Sit,” he added. Frank frowned. Nelson crossed his arms. He was so pissed he’d forgotten to be scared of the Punisher, and Frank had to respect that, at least. He’d just come here to get sausages, he reminded himself. Nothing else. Frank sat. It was a very uncomfortable chair. “Matt refuses to say anything, any question about Lucy makes him clam up and look sad and if Karen even mentions your name… it’s not good, Frank. What happened between you two?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again.” Frank didn’t answer. “Fine,” Nelson said after a while. “That's his scarf, right? That’s the one mom knitted for him a few Christmases ago. Said it took her ages to find a wool that would be soft enough for Matt and the right shade of red, like his glasses.” He sighed. “It’s Alpaca wool.”

“It’s warm.”

“Yeah, I bet. Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Nelson turned away and busied himself with the electric kettle and the French press on a little table. “Seriously, though. What happened at the hospital? There was another big shoot out, guy who was guarding your room got a bullet between the eyes, Matt laid down the killer, and then you… divorced?”

“He killed that guy.”

“Technically, no. Can’t believe that’d be your problem.”

“It’s not.”

“So?”

Frank eyed the amount of ground coffee in the press. Not enough, in his opinion. “Killing’s what I do. It’s what I set out to do. It’s not what he does.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” Nelson leaned back against the table after pouring water into the press. “So, is that it? Different vigilante philosophies?”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“I don’t know, the truth? Matt… is not easy, I know. I mean, we’ve been friends since college and, uh. We’ve had our fights, but you know what? He’s always trying so hard to be better. To do better. To do _right_ , you know? And then he doesn’t stop until he’s done. We don’t always agree on what right means, but I admire that in him.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know why I expected better this time. His relationships always crash and burn, it’s been a pattern all his life. Everyone leaves, in the end.”

“You didn’t.”

“I came back. So did he.” Nelson shook his head. “Suppose you take your coffee black, right?” Frank nodded. “Bit early to doctor it with something other than milk, I guess.” Nelson looked a bit disappointed, but he went downstairs to get milk and once the coffee was done he poured them some into mugs after he’d checked their state of cleanliness. Frank didn’t really care.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he said.

Nelson’s eyebrows rose. “So you _are_ the one who left?”

“At the hospital. Shouldn't have left the room.” Nelson sipped at his coffee, added some more milk, and waited. Damn them lawyers, did they all think they were shrinks? “I’m the one who kills. I can do it, I can live with it.” Matt couldn’t, and Frank left him. He _left_.

“Matt didn’t kill anyone. Not directly. Not like you do. And he can live with you being you, somehow. Don’t ask me to understand, because I don’t.”

“People too close to me…” Frank tried his own coffee. It wasn’t bitter enough. “I just came to get sausages.”

Nelson’s look was way too shrewd, and Frank didn’t like it one bit. “Well, you picked a good day. Karen isn't in this morning, and if she sees you she’ll read you the riot act.”

“Still got you.”

“Well, yes. The best.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yeah. You know, you look about as happy about it all as he does.” Nelson checked his watch. “Matt should get here soon. We’re working on, you know. All that’s happened. Do you want to stay?”

“No.”

“Of course, why did I ask? Well, I’ll let you get those sausages. Oh, and get some of the spicy ham, will you? Theo’s been experimenting, and that one’s a success.”

Frank drained his mug and stood up. As he made to open the door, his eyes fell on a drawing pinned to it. He hadn’t seen it when he’d come in, but now it was right in front of his face. A little Daredevil, red and black, with giant horns and lips pulled down in a snarl and kids cheering behind him, big smiles on their faces. “Does he know about this thing?”

“God, no. But my nephew made it; he said Daredevil was, and I quote, doing justicey things like his uncle Foggy, and so it stays.”

“Cute.” Frank considered the drawing again. Daredevil was holding his batons, his head was enormous compared to the rest of his body, he didn’t have any shoulders… It reminded him of other drawings, years ago. “Nelson,” he said. “Where can I find the guy who made his suit? You were his attorney, right?”

“Why would you want to know? Need a new vest?”

“Not for me.”

“Not for – oh. I thought he was wearing body armor again.”

“Saw him the other day. He wasn’t.”

“Shit. That explains… well, some things.”

“Injuries?”

“Nothing that seemed out of Regular Murdock, and how fucked up it is I can say that and have it make sense. Why would you care anyway? Since you’re doing this whole I’m a no-good, big bad loner routine.”

“Just tell me where.”

Nelson considered him for a long moment, then shook his head. “That guy,” he said, “only wants to be left alone. Let me get in touch with him first, see what he says. I have no idea what Matt would need, but if my client agrees to work on something and meet with you… I’ll call you, all right?”

“Yeah, okay.”

After leaving the butcher’s shop, Frank bought some fancy bread, cheese and pickles to go with the spicy ham, and it made for a perfect late lunch that he ate alone in the park where he’d gone running with Red most Sundays. Lucy was dozing at his feet, and he wasn’t lonely at all. The Punisher didn’t get lonely.

 

Nelson called back a week later.

“Frank, I got an answer from Matt’s suit guy. Still want to meet him?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. He said not to bring any guns, and I’d advise you not to surprise him.”

“Fine.”

“And he’s not promising anything so far, all right? Just to meet.”

“Just give me the address, Nelson.”

“Frank.”

“What.”

“I’m helping you here because I trust that you genuinely want to help Matt, that you actually care.” Frank didn’t answer. He didn’t _want_ to care, all right? “Right, be that way. Here’s where he’s working these days. He’ll be expecting you.”

Frank jotted it down and went to see Potter the same evening. Guy apparently had set up shop as a tailor, but while the front looked like your average place to get your hems and shit done, there was another, bigger workshop behind it. It was obvious from above, but you wouldn't have guessed it was there from street level. Frank knocked on the back door and waited. Potter wouldn’t expect him to come through the front door, right?

“Melvin Potter?” he said when nothing happened. “Nelson said you were expecting me. I’m not armed,” he added.

“I’m not here.”

Was the guy stupid? “Well I am.”

Door opened just enough so Frank could see a thin, pointy face. Potter wasn’t looking him in the eye. “I told Mr Nelson I wasn’t taking any shady clients anymore.”

“That's fine. I’m not here for myself.”

“He said you were looking for special equipment, and that I could trust you. But I know you, Mr Castle. If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have said yes.”

“I get it.” He did, he really did. “You made the Daredevil suit, yeah?”

“He made me do it!”

“Daredevil?”

“Mr Fisk. He made me do it!”

Oh. The Fisk-guided fake Daredevil. “I’m talking about the real one.”

The door opened a bit more. “He hates me.”

“Don’t think he does.”

“I fought him.”

“I know. About Fisk. You didn’t have a choice, right? There’s people we’d do anything for.”

“Betsy,” Potter said. He finally looked up at Frank’s face, although his eyes skittered away quickly. “You?”

“Yeah.” What could he say? That there had been, but that they’d died? That he couldn't go through that again?

The door opened fully at last, and Frank got in. The place was full of saws and metal bits and stuff that looked like Kevlar and huge sewing machines. “Don’t try anything, all right?” Potter said.

“I won’t. I know you can fight. I don’t want a fight.”

“Okay.” Potter was holding something that looked like a giant leather punch. Could do some serious damage with it, if he wanted. Guy was built.

“I’m here because Daredevil needs a new suit,” Frank said.

“He said he didn't want one.”

“Maybe he doesn't want one, but he needs one. He’s not bulletproof.”

“And you’ll get it to him?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’ll wear it?”

“He'd better.”

“But not the same one, right?” Potter put the leather punch back on the bench and took a tablet.

“Maybe not all red, no. He’s wearing black these days. Likes Muay Thai ropes when he’s not wearing gloves.”

Potter hummed. “Horns?” He sketched some more, and Frank waited patiently. “People call him Daredevil. He should have horns.”

“Not sure he’d want them now.”

“He won’t feel them.” Potter showed him his drawing. Two horns were outlined in red over the black helmet. “He’s blind, right?”

Frank didn’t know what he should answer. “How would you know?”

“He touches things; he doesn’t really look at them. He never complained about the eye slits and people always do, because masks really limit your field of vision.” Potter suddenly straightened. “Oh shit, I shouldn't have told you! Shit, I’m sorry, I…”

“That's all right, I know. Yeah, he’s blind.” Potter looked relieved. “Keep the horns.” That even got Frank a toothy smile.

“Any places that should have extra protection?” Everywhere, Frank thought. “Maybe some support? Old injuries?” Still everywhere.

“Spine and hips got badly hurt, but that would probably make the suit too stiff.” Red liked his flying kicks and backflips, even if he didn’t do them as often as he used to.

“Hmm. Maybe work on the boots, then…” More sketching. Frank squinted at the tablet. Seemed like he was adding something to the lower back, too. Whatever, Potter knew what he was doing.

“What about payment?” Frank asked.

“Huh?”

“Payment. For your work.”

Potter looked up at Frank’s shoulder. “I’m not doing this for money.”

“Doesn’t have to be money.”

More poking at the tablet. “You know Mr Nelson, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He got me out of jail for free. I’ll do this for him, and then you can owe him, okay?”

Shit, no. Frank didn’t want to owe Nelson anything. “What did Daredevil do for you?”

“He kept Betsy safe. He promised. But then he disappeared for months and Fisk… he was back. He made me do the other suit.”

“What if I promise to keep her safe too?”

“No. Not you. She’ll try to arrest you, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I said no!” This time Potter was looking Frank in the eye.

“Okay, all right. I get it. All right. I’ll owe Nelson. Fine. No problem.” Problem. But he’d do it. _People we’d do anything for_ , he’d said. Fuck.

“Betsy, she cares, you know? She takes risks for her job, and for me. People die around you.”

“Yeah, they do.” And that was why things had to be the way they were. “Need anything else?”

“It would be better if he came to try it on, you know. At least I still have the measurements from the previous suit, so I can get started on it. Do you think he’ll come?”

“I don’t know. Don’t count on it.”

Potter sighed. “Should be done by Thursday, I reckon.”

“I’ll come then.”

Frank didn’t think Potter would be the kind to do handshakes, so he nodded and left the workshop. He’d get Red’s suit, but then he’d have to find a way to get him to wear it and that… well. He had time to think about it.

 

Frank was back on Thursday evening. This time, Potter opened straight away and even thanked Frank for ending a meth-dealing gang earlier in the week that had been terrorizing Potter’s neighborhood. Frank had set fire to their labs and put a few bullets in them. That’s what he was supposed to do: end assholes. And help others do the same, Frank thought, looking at the new suit pinned on a manikin. Others who had more at stake than that, who had more in their lives than that.

“What do you think?” Potter asked.

It was mostly dark gray, almost but not quite black and would blend well with the shadows Red favored. There were dark red gauntlets. It looked thicker in places like the lower back. but when Frank touched it, the armor didn't seem any stiffer. Joints were well protected, and as promised there were horns outlined in red on the helmet. Frank ran his fingers over them and didn’t feel anything, but who knew what Red could and couldn't feel. Two Ds were embroidered over the heart, the same dried-blood red as the gauntlets and the boots. There also was an empty holster on the thigh.

“Looks good.”

“I made him new batons,” Potter said. “Improved a few things, but he should find them out pretty easily.”

“All right.”

“Can you tell him he can come see me if he needs adjustments or repairs?”

“Sure.”

“You know, people look down on me sometimes. But Daredevil, he never did,” Potter said as he packed the suit and batons in the duffel Frank had brought. “I hope he’ll wear it.”

“Yeah.” Frank took the bag and threw it over his shoulder. “I’ll get it to him.”

“Remember you owe Mr Nelson, right?”

“I will.” Frank opened the door. “Thanks, Potter.”

The guy was already back at poking his tablet before Frank’d left the workshop.

 

Frank could have gone through Red’s front door; he even still had the key. But he didn't want to risk seeing Fran, even if it was the middle of the night. The apartment was empty, and the roof access door was well-oiled: no one would hear him go in. He switched on the kitchen light and almost smiled. It wasn’t working. Frank tried another one, and this time the bulb was still working.

The apartment, at first sight, looked the same. Lucy’s things had disappeared, but otherwise everything still looked as he remembered. It hadn’t been that long, after all. A month. Just a month. All the lights were working back then, but Matt – _Red_ , he usually didn’t pay attention to the slight buzz of the lighting, unless he listened for it. It was background noise, between the billboard and the computer fan and the neighbors’ TV and all the many, many wires running through in the building. He’d learned to tune it out, so he wouldn't go crazy. Sometimes, Nelson had told Frank once, the lights stayed on for days and died, and Red never noticed. Never replaced them. Why would he, after all?

Frank sat on the couch and got all the pieces of the suit set up on the low table, ending with the helmet and batons. Red would find it quickly, he knew. Still, maybe he should leave a note. Frank went to the odds-and-ends kitchen drawer and got the old Braille labeler out. It rarely saw any use, and now there was a fancier one at their office – or there used to be, before the bombing. Anyway. Frank would leave a note, and he’d leave it in Braille. He thought about his message then turned the wheel to punch in, _wear it, Red_. He should know who it came from, right? That it was safe. Frank set the label on the suit, and the labeler on top of it all. He didn’t want Matt to miss it. Fuck, _Red_. Murdock. Not Matt. Frank had given that up.

But this place, it held too many memories of Matt. Of the red that showed in his hair when sunlight hit it, not the red of his old suit. Goddammit, what was he doing? When Maria and the kids… when Frank had lost them, he’d have given anything to get them back, and never let go. Never, not for anything. Maria had known and loved all of him, and he’d loved all of her, faults and all. But all his kills could never bring them back.

And then came Red and it was different, but it was good too, right? They’d had a good thing going on. Frank had thought all that was left in him was indifference and then moments of rage and blood that consumed him, sharpened him, but then he’d felt something else, something he’d believed had died along with Maria. It hadn’t, after all. But that thing with Red hadn’t erased what Frank had become after Maria, either. He wasn’t who he’d been, and he couldn't go back. Frank was a weapon now, useful until it couldn’t kill anymore. He couldn’t give – he couldn't.

Ah, fuck. Frank went to wash his face in the bathroom and his toothbrush was taunting him. Goddamn altar boy hadn’t kept Lucy’s bowls, but he’d kept Frank’s toothbrush? What, did he think Frank would be back? Frank struggled not to throw it away and break something, anything. Ma- Red didn’t deserve to have his apartment trashed. Frank splashed water on his face, patted himself dry, and went to stare at the bed. Since he was here.

There was a bag of Lucy’s kibble in a corner, and the bowls right next to it. The bed was half undone, but Frank’s side – dammit, he’d had a side – was untouched. The book he’d been reading was still where he’d left it, a carefully folded sleep shirt on his – not his – pillow. Only thing missing was the rosary on Matt’s bedside table, but when Frank’s fingers closed around it in his pocket he found he couldn’t take it out and leave it here. He just… couldn't.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have come.

Frank left the apartment and let the roof access door slam and he didn’t care at all.

 

Who was he kidding? And anyway, what was the point of getting that suit done if Red didn’t wear it? Frank found a spot behind the billboard where he had a good view into the apartment, eyes on the couch and coffee table. Red might suspect Frank would be around after finding the suit, but hopefully the billboard’s neons buzzing would cover Frank’s heartbeat even if Red listened for him. Frank wasn’t sure if Red could hear him from that distance, but who knew with those ears.

Freezing rain was starting to fall down and Frank hunkered under a metal beam. The drops made little plink sounds, faster and faster, and he rooted through his bag. Thermos was probably still half-full, and the coffee still warm if not hot. He settled to wait, his eyes on the large windows and his mind on how to track down the child molester ring that Turk, of all people, had called him about. The traffickers had tried to get in touch with Turk and his many contacts but even for that low-life it was going too far, and he’d tipped Frank about them. Frank should call David; those assholes were easy to track on the Internet. But then _someone_ would ask about Red and – no. Turk had given him some of the flyers that had started cropping up, promises of easy money for young people. Frank’d call one of these numbers. He’d find them.

There was movement on the roof – yes, Red was back. Frank got his scope out and saw him walk past the couch, then stop. He removed his mask, tilted his head, then walked slowly to the table. He got his batons out, disappeared further into the apartment, then came back into Frank’s field of vision, the batons back in their holster. Red sat on the couch and ran his hands on the suit. He found the helmet and lifted it gingerly. He wasn’t sure, Frank realized. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t a trap of some sort. He ran his fingers all over it, put it on then took it off, then set it aside on the table. He found the new and improved batons first, twisted them around and did things to them – Frank remembered the old ones were rather fancy, could be used separately or not. These were the same, apparently: Red twisted one a little and they were a nunchaku, then they were one longer stick, then two again. Red smiled, and set them next to the helmet. He found the labeler next and the note underneath.

And his face changed. The smile went away, and he wiped everything off the table and stood there breathing heavily. Frank could see his chest going up and down, up and down, like it did when he was fighting or when – when they’d been having sex. Before. When they’d gone running and when they’d sparred.

Frank lowered the scope. He didn’t want to remember. When he looked again Red was wiping his face. He kicked the suit on the floor further away from him and started to remove his boots, his dark shirt, his pants. How wasn’t he freezing if he was wearing so little? And shit, he’d gotten some hits lately. The new, too-smooth skin over his bullet wounds was shining too much in the billboard lights. Every few seconds Red would rub his face angrily, until he was down to his boxers and disappeared into either the bedroom or the bathroom.

Shit. Frank had fucked things up, hadn’t he.

 

Of course, now that Frank wanted to see him, he couldn't pin him down. Every time he got near, Matt spotted him and disappeared. Even jumped off a roof once, the idiot. And he wasn’t wearing Potter’s new suit, either.

It finally happened two days later. Frank had found out where the fucking pedophiles were hiding and shot his way through the front door, and when he’d put bullets in all the assholes he could find, he set fire to all their equipment – computers, cameras, the works. He watched the thick, acrid smoke rise up and the few guys he’d shot but not quite killed start to cough. Frank shouldn't linger.

He thought he was done when he heard sounds further in, and he wrapped a piece of his shirt around his hand to open the door in case it was already too hot to the touch. It was close enough to the fire, and he’d made that mistake once as a young Marine, but he knew better now. And, fuck, there had been another studio, he guessed. A half-dozen dudes had been hiding here, but they were all unconscious on the floor. And Red was standing above them, his fists still raised. He was only wearing one of those damn thin shirts and pants and his stupid cloth mask. They didn’t say anything for a few moments, but then Red coughed and Frank remembered the fire.

“Let’s get out,” he said.

“No.”

“What?” Frank watched as Matt stalked past him and almost walked into the wall. “Smoke’s fogging your senses, Red. We need to leave.”

“No. There should be an extinguisher. Where is it?”

Frank pushed the door almost closed behind him to keep some of the smoke out. “There isn’t one. How did you get in?”

Red pointed up and Frank saw a broken roof window. “I’ll call the fire department,” he said as he got a burner out of his pocket.

“Let them burn. We have to get out, Red.”

“We need proof, Frank. They need to go on trial, and for that, they need to be alive and we need proof.”

Frank lost it. What was _wrong_ with him? “The building is on fire, Red!”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Fuck’s sake, these assholes should burn for what they did! They don’t deserve a goddamn trial!”

“Not for them. For the victims.”

Ah, shit. Frank took the fire extinguisher by the window because yes, he’d lied, and peered into the main room. The fire was still away from the people he'd shot down, and it hadn’t yet spread too much, but it would soon reach the servers. He wet a rag in the sink and tied it over his nose and mouth before going in. He sprayed the base of the flames and the servers, then dragged the guys that were still more or less breathing away from them. He could hear Matt calling the fire department behind him, coughing too much to be good. Frank wondered how recovered he was from the bullets that had threatened his fucking life.

Frank found more rags, wet them and threw them over the faces of people he still wanted to kill, but Matt of course stepped away when he handed him one.

“Come on: it’s not great but it’s better than breathing it all in.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“ _Red_.”

“Fuck you.” Matt stuck his burner back into his pants, turned his back on Frank and jumped on a table and then to the roof window.

A snicker rose from the floor, ending in a cough. Then, “Trouble with the missus?”

Frank walked on the fucker’s ankle and snapped it before following Matt. Hey, it wasn’t his neck. He wouldn't be howling if it had been.

Red was on the roof of the next building, listening for the arrival of the fire trucks. His breathing was fast and shallow, and he was visibly trying not to cough.

“Hey,” Frank said. “You should go to a hospital, get checked out.” He sat next to him, leaning against the same chimney but not quite touching. He didn’t think Matt would let him right now. “You can’t feel great. You had a couple ribs cracked a few weeks ago and a collapsed lung.”

Red spat between his knees. Frank couldn't tell if it was blood or soot that made it so dark. “I remember.”

“The Rand hospital is just a few blocks away. I can drive you.”

“No.”

They could hear the sirens now; they should leave before someone spotted them. “Look, you can yell at me later, but we can’t stay here.” Frank stood up and held out a hand, and after a while Matt batted it away and hauled himself up on his own. They got down via a fire escape and once in the alley, Frank zipped up his shirt to cover the skull. “I’m parked two streets over.”

“Good for you.” More coughing. “You breathed in smoke too.”

“So we can both see a doc, that alright with you?”

“I’m not going to a hospital.”

Fuck was he stubborn. Frank slid a finger under the mask and removed it. Matt didn’t say anything, only turned his head away a little. “I fucked up, all right? You can yell at me, fine. But the way you're breathing, you need oxygen.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Sure, okay, you’re not angry.”

The fire escape rattled behind them and Frank stepped in front of Matt. He was still holding his mask; he’d rather not whoever it was saw his face.

“It’s all right.” Red pushed Frank aside. “Hi, Danny.”

“Hey, Matt? That really you?”

Red tried to hide his cough, but it wasn’t very convincing. “Yeah. Um. How you doing?”

The guy – shaggy blond hair, looked like a hobo – took one look at Frank, decided he wasn’t a threat, and went straight to hug Matt. Who _was_ this guy? “Man, I’m so happy to see you! I swear, after Midland – er.” He peeled himself away from a very stiff Matt and narrowed his eyes at Frank.

“It’s okay, he knows.” Matt took a step away from Danny but didn’t get any closer to Frank either.

“Are you the boyfriend?” Danny asked. “From the blog article? Guy had a beard, but you look like the right build.” He looked between them. “…or not?”

“Fuck that blog,” Frank said. He’d forgotten that damn article, and he’d been happier that way. He held out his hand, because he had manners. When he wanted. “Frank.”

“Danny. Danny Rand.” They shook hands, and Matt was trying to muffle his coughing again. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s not,” Frank said, “We got caught in a fire.”

“Oh, the one I saw just a minute ago? I heard there had been a shooting inside, and survivors mentioned the Punish – wait.” Danny stared. Frank lowered his zipper and let the top of the skull peek out. “Shit. Really? What did these guys do?”

“Nothing good.” Wait. “Rand, as in the hospital a couple blocks away?”

“Well, yeah. Oh, um, yes! I can get you a private, discreet doc, sure, no problem. And we can catch up, right?” Jesus, this guy was like a lab puppy. Nah, a golden retriever, what with the hair. Frank started to herd them in the direction of the van. “So, hey, Matt, we all mourned, you know? And I did what you asked, more or less, but then Foggy called us to say you were back and man, Jess was pissed. I mean, more than usual. Hey, did you call them too? Jess and Luke?”

Matt shrugged. “I left you all voicemail.”

“Can you believe this guy?” Danny turned to walk backwards while gesturing at Frank. “We thought he was dead, and then turned out he wasn’t, and all he did is leave a message, _hi, sorry I’m not dead, bye_? Really?” He punched Matt’s shoulder. “No need to be sorry for _that_ , by the way. So, how did you survive?”

“I don’t know.”

“Colleen says maybe some of the substance got into you, you know? I mean, that’s a theory. We can’t test it, obviously.”

They reached the van, and Frank slid the door open for them. Danny got in first, but then Matt hesitated. “It was good to see you, Danny.”

“Hey, come on, don’t be like that, I just found you again!”

“I just…” Matt coughed.

“Get in, Red. I’ll just drop you off and leave, yeah?”

“Leave? Starting to be a pattern, Frank.”

“Or I’ll stay,” Frank said, “your call. Your buddy’s got doctors, right?” Danny nodded encouragingly at them, not like Matt would see it. Frank didn’t know what to do: take his elbow and nudge him in? Wait patiently? Throw him in the van?

“I’m calling right now, make sure you get a private room and a doctor right away.” Danny, in his threadbare clothes, had a state-of-the-art phone.

“I don’t need – there are other people who need medical care more than I do,” Matt said.

“Fuck’s sake.” Frank picked Matt up and pushed him in. Shit, he felt light. Lighter than he’d been.

Matt blinked a little but didn’t protest and slumped against the door once Frank had closed it. He looked tired and kept coughing intermittently.

 

“So,” Frank said once he’d turned the key in the ignition. “Do you have your own entrance there?”

“The company does, yeah. I’ll direct you.” Danny glanced at Matt a little worriedly but didn’t try to rouse him.

“You seem pretty trusting, for a rich guy.”

“I wasn’t always rich.”

“Still. Not afraid I’m going to kill you or ransom you?”

“Nah. Matt trusts you. And,” Danny added, “I’m not helpless myself.” He raised a fist, and shit: it was glowing.

“Please no dragon story,” Matt mumbled from the window.

“So you’ll defend him with that glowing thing?” Frank asked.

“I am the immortal Iron Fist, and yeah. You bet.” The glow faded but not the expression on Danny’s face. No more tail-wagging pup here. He looked willing and ready to fight.

“Okay. Good.”

Danny made him go around the hospital until they got to the entrance to an underground parking lot, and he leaned over Frank to press his thumb on a pad. The door rolled up, and they stopped on the second underground floor where a guard made them stop.

“Hi, Nabeel! They’re with me, it’s cool,” Danny said.

“Hey, boss. You’re good to go.”

“That’s the private level,” Danny said. “You can park there by the elevators.”

“I don’t like elevators,” Matt said.

Frank and Danny ignored him, and he let them prod him in one. Frank nudged Matt so he’d take his arm, and the tiny weight in the crook of his elbow felt right. “Doc’s gonna look at your eyes, I imagine.”

Frank watched Matt go from Tired Red to Lost Blind Guy, and it broke his heart a little. That he pretended so much, that he hid so much. Danny noticed, too, how his shoulders slumped, his jaw softened, his hand tightened on Frank’s biceps.

Maybe the tighter hand was for the elevator, though. He really didn’t seem happy to be in one.

“Bad elevator experience?” Danny asked.

“Tight spaces,” Matt said.

“What happened?”

“Too many things. I can cope. I just prefer to avoid them.” When he spoke more than a couple words, you could hear how raspy his voice was from all the smoke.

“Oh, okay.” Danny looked too understanding, too… friendly. It was unsettling. “I got a physician waiting for us, and a private room.”

“Nice.” Frank could appreciate that, at least.

“Yeah, well. If I get the perks, I can share them, you know?”

“Thank you,” Matt said.

The door opened on a quiet corridor, and Danny led them to a room where a doctor was waiting.

“Hi, Sam.”

The doc had a no-nonsense bun, eccentric glasses, and a kind smile. Frank liked her.

“Hello,” she said. “Danny said you two were in a fire, that’s right?”

“Yeah.” Frank nodded at Matt. “He breathed in more smoke than I did.”

“All right, then I’ll start with him. Can you wait outside?” Red glared in Frank’s direction, but the doc used his coughing fit to push him on the bed as they left the room.

“She’s the best,” Danny said once they were back in the corridor.

“Yeah, she seems nice,” Frank agreed.

“So, you never actually answered.”

“About?”

“Are you the boyfriend?”

“On the picture? Yeah.”

“Damn. Jess was right, then.”

“What?”

“Jessica. She said Matt had a thing for people who could kill him, I said nah, and Luke said maybe.”

“I wouldn’t kill him.” Frank didn’t mention the time he’d shot Red in the head, but that helmet had looked sturdy enough to stop the bullet and it had been. And, fine, Frank hadn’t been at his most lucid then. “Was she thinking of Elektra?”

“We were all thinking of Elektra. He stayed down there with her, for her. Well, also for us, because if he hadn’t she’d have gone after us, I guess. But yeah.”

“I was there, when she died the first time.”

“Yeah? Poor guy. Don’t die on him, okay?”

“I’m hard to kill.”

“You look like it.”

“Is she really dead, now?”

“Hard to say. The Hand used her and twisted her, but Matt was right: you could see she was fighting it. I don’t know how far back she got when it collapsed, and if _he_ survived it… I don’t know. Maybe.”

“He said she’d been trained by the same guy who trained him.” Frank sat on a plastic chair, the same kind you found in every hospital, the kind you waited in and that made you feel every minute like a deeper stab in the vertebrae.

“Yeah. The Hand, the Chaste – they liked their child soldiers. K’un-Lun, too. But they’re over.” Danny was pacing in the corridor, back to his energetic self from earlier. “Hey, you want to go down to the cafeteria? Get some food, something?”

“I’m good.”

“Really?”

“I’m staying here, you know? Until he says otherwise.”

“Oh, okay. I can get you something, If you’d like.”

Coffee sounded nice, but then the door opened and Sam waved them inside.

“All done,” she said. “You want to go to another room?”

Frank looked at Matt. He was reclining on the bed, a cannula under his nose. “You decide, Red.”

“I don’t care,” he said after a while.

“All right.”

Danny looked at the curtain separating the room into two. “Well, not like he can see you, anyway.”

“Privacy is more than sight,” Sam said primly, and Frank smiled.

“Fine, fine.” Danny threw his hands up and started backing out. “Look, I can’t remember my number, but ask Foggy, all right? Call me, whenever. And call the others,” he added for Matt. “We missed you.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t very convincing, but it got Danny out. He was a good guy, but Frank wanted some peace and quiet now.

Sam examined Frank and pronounced him healthy, told Matt he had to stay and keep the cannula for the rest of the night or else, and left them at last. She took the huge equipment cart with her, and the room suddenly seemed so much bigger.

Frank sat on the chair by Matt’s bed. “We should stop meeting like that.” It got him a tiny smile.

“Yeah, I’m getting tired of all these hospitals.”

Matt’s hand was right next to his, but Frank didn't dare take it. “Your buddy’s all right. Chatty, but all right. Feeling better?”

Red didn’t answer right away. “I didn’t want to fight,” he finally said. “Not with Danny here.”

“Okay.”

“I just want to go home.” He pushed himself up and made to pull the small tube away from his face.

“Don’t, doc said you need it.”

“I don’t care. I’m not staying.” Matt removed the cannula and stood up. He was a little wobbly, but he didn't take the hand Frank held out to steady him.

“Why am I not surprised,” Sam said from the doorway. “Yeah, we got an alarm for when patients remove medical equipment. You’re busted.”

“I’m going home,” Matt said again.

“I figured you might. Friend of Mr Rand’s? He’s got a type, this one. Don’t know what your particular deal is, but…” She entered the room fully, a little cart with her.

“My deal?”

“Well, it’s not my problem anyway. So since you still need oxygen, here’s a tank you can use tonight and tomorrow. You can call the hospital on Monday and we’ll send someone to take it back, all right?”

Matt blinked. “Yeah, okay.” He seemed relieved.

“All right. Mr Rand has set up a chauffeur for you, to take you home and carry the tank upstairs if need be. We’re all paid to keep secrets here, I promise, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Yeah, Danny himself isn’t very good at keeping his own, but…” Matt tilted his head. He was listening. “You’re not lying.”

She smiled at him, not that he would see it. Eh, who knew? Maybe he could feel it somehow.

Frank cleared his throat. “I can drive you.” Both heads turned in his direction.

“It’s fine,” Matt said. “I’m sure Lucy is waiting for you.”

She was probably dozing on Ravi’s feet while he studied, but Frank didn’t mention that. “She misses you.” Sam looked between them like it was a mix between a tennis match and _Grey’s Anatomy_. Maria had loved that shit.

“Can you…” Matt held out his hand. “You still have the mask, I think.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Frank rooted into his coat pocket and got the mask out. The rosary came with it, rattling between his fingers.

“You kept it.”

“Of course I did.” When he’d thought he’d had no hope or faith left, there had still been those two words on the rosary. Still been the wooden beads polished by all the years Matt had used it in prayer.

“Oh. Well. I’ll just…” Red ran his fingers over it, but only plucked the mask. “Lead the way, doctor.”

And he turned his back on Frank, leaving him standing there with a rosary hanging from his fingers. “Be careful, all right?” Frank whispered in the empty room. “Please.”

 

Monday morning, bright and early, Frank was waiting for Maggie as she came back from walking the youngest children to the school.

“Ma’am.”

She didn’t say anything for a while and her unsmiling stare almost made him turn tail, but he didn’t. He wasn’t no kid, all right? He wasn’t scared of such a tiny woman. “Finally going to fix that heater?” she said at last.

“Yeah.”

She looked him up and down, and got up the steps without another word until she reached the door. “You coming or not?”

Frank followed.

The bathroom was still the same mess he’d left weeks ago: the old heater in a corner, a few tools scattered around, plaster dust and half-full bucket under a leaky pipe, and the hammer he’d been holding when he’d heard about the bombing. He remembered closing the toolbox because of the tiny screws and nuts and bolts it held, because of all the pointy and sharp things in there, but he hadn’t put everything back in. He’d just run to the bombed office, and he’d never come back. Shit. That had been when he’d started to lose it. Right here, right then.

Maggie stood there and fuck, she was good. Frank wanted to look down and fidget and mumble excuses. “Anything else needs fixing?” he finally said when he couldn't stay quiet any longer.

“Let’s start with finishing that.” She smoothed her habit. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. We’ll have coffee.” Then she walked out and closed the door behind her, and Frank was left alone with plumbing and his thoughts.

She was true to her words, not that he doubted her, and the coffee she made was much better than Karen’s. One thing to look forward to, at least. He was just sweeping the plaster dust when Maggie came back, and she waited until he was done to speak. “Kitchen,” she only said.

So he followed her down the stairs, sat when she pointed at the bench, and wrapped his hands around the mug she handed him.

“Yes please,” Frank said when she tilted a bottle of whiskey in his direction. Probably too early for that, but then again. Maggie splashed a good amount in both their coffees, and Frank looked down into the ceramic. He couldn’t look at her for too long.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she finally said.

“Took me too long.”

“Yes. But you fixed it, in the end.”

Oh, so she was going there straight away. Well, that was why he’d come, yeah. He tried the coffee, and it burned as much as it should. “I fucked up.”

“We all do.”

“He forgave you.”

She put her mug back on the table. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure it’s about forgiveness. Do you pray?”

“Not in a long time.”

“Hm.”

Ah, fuck. He got the rosary out of his pocket. “He gave me this.”

“Oh,” Maggie said. Her lips twisted, then she regained her composure. “I gave it to his father, when our – our son became blind. So he could give it to Matthew.”

“Yeah, it feels old.” Frank looked up. “Not that I mean…”

“I know what you meant. And yes, it is. Do you know what it says? On the cross?”

Hope, he remembered. Faith. “Yeah.”

“That’s something we shouldn't forget. Ever. And we tend to, in the – in the family.” She added some more whiskey in her coffee. “He got it from both sides, you know?”

“He said you couldn’t care for him,” Frank said. Maggie nodded, her lips pinched. “Maria… my wife. She was fine, you know? But her sister. When she got her little girl, she had it so bad. I was stateside then. I saw her, in the hospital. She couldn't… It took months. But she got there. She did. She got better.”

“Do you still see them? Maria’s family?”

“No. They never liked me much, I think. And then… yeah.” His mug was empty, and he poured whiskey straight into it. Maggie stopped him and added coffee.

“It’s a bit early to get drunk.”

“Yeah, well. Drinking to the departed, you know.”

She knocked her mug into his. “Well, that’s what we do in mass. Drinking wine and all.”

Frank almost choked on his coffee. “I thought it was Christ's blood.”

“Yes, well. What is worse, drinking wine or drinking blood?”

“Point.” He let the rosary beads slide between his fingers.

“Jack,” she said. “Do you know how he died?”

“Shot by the mob, he told me.”

“ _Suicide_ by mob. He was supposed to throw a fight, and he didn’t. Just so Matthew could hear people cheering for his father.”

“That's what he said?”

“Yes. That, and he also made a lot of money in one night that he put in a fund for Matthew. Helped pay for his studies.” Maggie quickly swiped her fingers on her cheeks. “He was proud and impulsive, and he too abandoned our son.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Too many people abandoned Matthew for his own good, Frank. Or at least that’s what we’ve all believed we were doing, be it true or not. Whatever your reasons… you can’t push him away for his sake. You can’t take anyone’s choices away from them. God made us free, and it means sometimes we make mistakes, yes. But also that we have the opportunity to try and make it better. Not everyone does, but all God asks is that we try.”

“I’m a killer. I don’t think your God can ever accept that.”

“Matthew does. That's what matters, isn’t it?” She put her hands over his. “And all of us who have hurt him… he’s always been ready to welcome us back, in the end.” Maggie wasn’t wrong. Matt loved too easily, as long as it wasn’t himself. And it got him hurt too often.

“Ma’am, I kill, and I don’t regret it. I am good at it. I’ve lost too much of…” Frank stopped before his voice broke.

“You’re feeling sorry for yourself, is what you’re doing. Living, Frank. Living is harder than giving it all up. But if you’re as proud and stubborn as he is…” Yeah. Matt may have waited for a few days, but then days had turned into weeks and now he wouldn’t open up again easily. He wasn’t pissed, Frank realized: he was hurt. Or, all right, he was both. Curling over to protect his soft belly, snarling and spitting if they met in a studio on fire as Daredevil and the Punisher, and just tired and distant when the masks fell off. He’d walked around Frank and escaped as soon as he could. Red was hurt, and ashamed he’d let himself got hurt, and afraid it would happen again. Fuck.

“With my wife,” Frank said. “With Maria, we’d fought, yes. Hurt each other, even. But we’d have it out, and once it was all out it was, uh. It was out, you know? Done. Over. We settled back.”

“Did you fight with Matthew? Or did you just decide to walk away?”

Frank frowned into his now empty mug. He’d have liked to meet Jack, he thought. Guy seemed to have been more his speed: less talk, more action. Hit a bag until you didn't feel anything anymore. That was looking like a good option, right now. Maggie wasn’t pulling her punches either, but Frank would sure feel more comfortable with Jack’s kind.

“Look, uh. Is there anything else that needs fixing?”

Frank got the distinct impression Maggie was trying not to laugh at him. “We’re good. For now.”

“All right.” He stood up. “So, uh. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime.”

He left St Agnes and drove back to the shelter with his head swimming. He remembered how it used to go with Maria, he remembered also how he argued with Daredevil, when he was out with a skull on his vest. But now, it wasn’t the devil, and it wasn’t his wife. He’d have to do things differently. But it would be worth it. It would. He just had to find how.

 

Karen was waiting for Frank at the shelter. She was chatting with Carlie in her office, and Lucy was looking a bit perkier than she had the last few weeks.

“Hi,” he said when Karen’s laser eyes spotted him.

“Frank.”

Carlie looked between them and made a production of straightening the files on her desk. “Well, I guess it’s lunch time for me, right?” She scratched Lucy’s chin and did something with her eyebrows while looking at Frank before leaving. He couldn't guess what she’d tried to say, not for the life of him.

“You never answered my messages,” Karen said.

“Yeah, well. You look good.”

“You look tired.”

“Not enough beauty sleep,” he said. Lucy put her head on his knee as soon as he sat down.

“Matt doesn’t get enough either. But, uh, I didn’t come about him.” She pulled a notepad and a pen out from her giant purse. “Our firm is working on the Über Alles case, and we need your input.”

“I’m not sure you want the Punisher as a witness here.”

“Not on the stand, no, but it doesn’t mean you can’t help.”

“Fine. But not here,” Frank said.

They bought lunch at a deli on the way to the park, and she asked her questions while Frank watched over Lucy as she ran after the thick stick he’d picked up under a tree.

“You should take her with you,” he told Karen once he thought she was done.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah. She misses him.”

“You can say his name, you know.”

“I know.”

She stuck her notepad back into her purse. “You can come with us.”

He shrugged. “Not this time.”

“I don’t get it. I don’t get you!” Her raised voice made Lucy look up in alarm from her gnawing on the stick. “Shit,” Karen said. “I’ve scared the dog.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“And will you? Will you, Frank? I didn’t think you were that much of a coward but you are, aren’t you?”

“A coward?”

“You got cold feet and you ran. Isn’t that what you’re doing? Hiding?”

“That’s not…”

“What scared you most: that Matt almost died or your reaction to it? Or maybe you were afraid he’d need you too much?”

“Shit, Karen. It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? What else is there, then?” She poked him in the chest. “You can’t go back on your ‘I’m already dead’ bullshit. You’re not. You’re alive, Frank. Act like it.”

“You give him pep talks too?”

“Come and find out.”

He shook his head. “Just take Lucy, all right? I’ve got her harness at the shelter.”

“Fine,” she said.

They got back to the shelter and once Karen and Lucy had left, it felt even more empty. Frank looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Who was this guy? Who did he want to be? Who could he be? He tried to think about what people saw. The killer? The former soldier? The vigilante? The widower, the man who’d lost everything? A tool to keep hidden until it was useful, like Madani thought? A dangerous madman, a threat to society? The quiet handyman, the dog owner? And Matt, who was he to Matt? What could he be? What could Frank give him, that he couldn't get elsewhere?

Frank knew what he had in Red: a weakness, but also someone who grounded him. Someone who made him feel needed, wanted. Human. He hadn’t felt that since Afghanistan. Maria, Lisa, Frank Jr – they’d died before he could feel that again, and then he’d been… numb, yeah. That was the word. Rage, pain, and then numbness. But Matt had brought him back fully into the land of the living, while before he hadn’t dared cross the border again. He’d forgotten how everything was… more. He’d gotten used to his gray world. It got a bit sharper when he saw Curt or Karen, but it couldn't hurt him much, not really.

With Matt, it did. It hurt. But Frank found he wanted it, because when it hurt, he bled red. Maybe he could live there, between the colorless world of the Punisher and the other one. Maybe he didn’t have to choose.

Frank closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at his reflection any longer, and he had kennels to clean this afternoon anyway. Something useful to do.

 

He rarely said anything when he went to one of Curt's sessions, but there weren’t a lot of places he could go where people wouldn’t tell him what to do. And he often got to have a beer or two with Curt afterwards, so there was that. There wouldn't be any beer this evening, because Curt was back into the dating game and didn’t have time for Frank’s sorry ass tonight.

This time, a guy talked about how he couldn't find a job because of his anger issues, a woman about how she missed her unit and couldn’t connect with anyone. Then there was that kid, the one who’d seen his camp blown up, his mates turned into red paste in the sand while he’d been having a shit behind a rock. They’d all brought back too much and not enough.

Frank thought how war followed them everywhere: those who’d lost a leg and those who’d lost themselves and those who weren’t wanted anymore. _I hurt people_ , he almost said. _That’s what I brought back_. But that was a lie: he’d always been an asshole. He’d just learned how to channel it into war. Into revenge. He needed an outlet, but also to control it so it didn’t control him.

Frank stayed after the session to help put the chairs back on the hooks. He knew Curt wouldn't push him to say what was on his mind and wouldn't mind telling him about his new girl. Ayesha, he’d said. Tall, soft skin, an accountant, won competitions in taekwondo, loved knitting and her niece.

“She sounds nice.”

“She is. We’re meeting in Harlem,” Curt said. “Want me to drive you halfway to your place?”

“Nah, I’ll walk for a while.”

“You sure?”

But Curt hadn’t insisted much, and Frank was grateful. He enjoyed the cool night air and the dark red scarf kept him warm. He stayed near the waterfront but meandered between blocks, walking past a closed school and a bar busy with the Friday crowd and an empty lot. Just as he was going out from under the High Line something – someone – flattened him to the ground. Bullets flew over their heads right where he’d been standing just before, and the body pinning him down behind a car was very familiar.

“Frank.”

“What the hell?” Frank whispered.

“Traffickers.” Matt tilted his head, listening. “They’re moving, we should move too.”

“What traffickers?” Frank pushed Red off of him but let his hands linger a bit longer than necessary. Hard muscle, and no suit.

“Worked with the child porn people you set on fire last week. Just found out they’re after you.” Matt hauled him up and started moving, keeping a hand around Frank’s wrist. They kept low, and Red was going fast.

“You were there too,” Frank said once they were not moving anymore. Matt had led them inside a boarded up shop via the broken back door. “You sure they didn’t see us?”

“Don’t think so.”

“All right. Are they after you, too?” Matt didn’t answer, but he was still holding Frank’s wrist. “You’re not wearing Potter’s suit.”

“They’re after whoever destroyed their source of income.”

“So they _are_ after you.” Matt let go of him to move closer to the front window. “Thank you. For earlier.”

“I don’t want you dead.”

“You don’t want _anyone_ dead. That's why the assholes outside know to go after us.” The others had talked. Of course they had.

“You agreed with me.”

“I did, but I should have expected this.” Frank paused. He didn’t want a fight. “I’m not carrying,” he said. He didn’t think Curt would want him to come to a session with a gun.

“Thought you always were, these days.” Matt leaned against a concrete pillar, his arms crossed over his chest. Frank could only see his outline in what little light filtered between the thick boards that closed up what had been the shop front. A bodega, at a guess.

“No.” Frank slid down the wall to sit on the floor. It was dusty, but he didn’t care. He rested his arms on his knees, letting his hands hang in front of him. He settled in to wait until Matt said they could get out. “How’s Lucy?”

“She’s fine.”

“She missed you.”

“Yeah, well, someone did.” Matt left his pillar and stomped back to the front of the bodega. “They’re going around the block looking for us.”

“She wasn’t the only one.”

“You left. Old man was right, don't get attached.”

“Red – ”

“Not now.” Matt put a hand against the wood and listened. “They’re coming.”

“We’re trapped.”

“It’s dark in here, right? Can’t hear any light.”

“Yeah.”

“Well then.”

“They could have flashlights or break the boards down.”

Something creaked from the back. Beams of light were dancing around. It was option A, then.

“You’re dead!” One of the assholes yelled.

“I’ll distract them,” Matt whispered, and he was off.

Frank crept behind what must have been the counter and waited. He heard Matt’s batons connect with metal, then flesh; from the shots Frank heard they had handguns but nothing bigger.

“Shit, how does he see us?”

“Where’s the other one?”

They were confused, good. Frank slipped out and while they were all trying to get to Matt he grabbed a flashlight and a gun from a guy Red had knocked down. Shit, he couldn't see a thing and using the flashlight would reveal his position. He flattened himself against a wall and realized the fight had moved into the storage room. He could hear crashing metal shelves and more gunshots and fuck, Red was in there without the suit and Frank was useless because he couldn't see a thing – and if he turned the light on, then he’d have painted a big target on himself. Worse than useless.

But he wasn’t going to let Red all alone in there.

He kept close to the wall and found one of the fuckers aiming his gun at Matt, and shit – Red had been caught right in the beam of his light. He was standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, and the other guys had seen he was in their sight at last. And Matt, Matt didn’t realize what was happening. He moved his head left and right, probably wondering why they’d stopped attacking and pondering who to jump next. He didn’t know they could see him, he didn’t know there were now a couple more beams on him. Didn’t know why they were snickering.

“You’re done,” the one in front of Frank said.

So Frank body-slammed him and shot down another guy, aiming at where the light was coming from. He kicked the first guy’s head and took his gun, leaving his light on the floor, and put another one in his sights but – shit. They all turned off their lights at the same time, and they were laughing.

“You’re made like rats!”

Frank put his back against the wall and listened – not to their taunts, but their feet. They were planning on shooting in front of them until they hit Matt and Frank, and they’d moved between them and the door. Fuck.

Something touched his arm, crept up and – a finger on his mouth. He nodded. As the fuckers were, from the sounds of it, spreading in an arc and blocking the way to the door, Matt settled his back against his chest. Frank couldn't help it, he slid an arm around that warm, slightly thinner-than-he-remembered waist. There was something wet and warm on his flank. Frank was about to turn around and throw them both to the ground when Red wrapped a hand around each of his and aimed his guns. Shit, what was he doing? Frank realized he was aiming rather low, so he was going for the legs. Matt’s pointer tapped his trigger finger, and Frank understood. He shot. And shot. And shot again.

“What the fuck!” One of them yelled. The others were not using words, but they were sure alive enough to scream and groan. Matt made him shoot again, and this time it pinged against metal.

“Shit, my hand! He shot my hand!”

“Don’t try to shoot, then,” Matt said in that low voice that did things to Frank. Not the time, but damn. Matt left him to go pick up their guns. “Let’s get out.”

Frank followed the wall back to the door and Matt joined him in the bodega. “You all right, Red?”

“I’m fine.” Which meant nothing, but it was a start. “Here,” Matt said. He put a light in his hand, and Frank turned it on. “Can we block the door and shut them in?”

“We sure can.”

They ignored the groans from inside and dragged some shit in front of the door. Red called in an anonymous tip with his burner. He said they should be quick and come with medics, then opened the phone and removed the battery.

“Think that’s enough?” Frank wondered if he always used the same phone or if he changed them often. David would probably know what to do.

“It’s a start,” Matt said.

“All right. We should leave, then.”

“Yeah.”

They could hear sirens already, and Frank remembered they were pretty close to a couple precincts. Once they got out into the alley outside, Matt ignored him and immediately made for a fire escape without another word. Frank followed him, and they ended up on top of an auto body shop.

“Matt,” he said.

“I’m going home.”

“You’re bleeding.” Not that Frank could see it, but Matt being Matt it was a safe bet, especially given the way he kept his left elbow in right where Frank had felt blood. It was his all right.

“I’m – ”

“Don’t say it. Just let me look, all right? I’ll help you if you need a few stitches, nothing more, then I’ll go.”

“If you want Lucy, just say so.”

“I… what? No, look, I just want to help, all right?”

“Since when?” Matt turned around and faced him. “Since when, Frank?” He advanced on him, and Frank could see it – his fists curling, the snarl on his face. He was furious, and he was going to take it out on Frank. All right then. They could do that.

“You know the answer.”

“Do I?” Matt was snarling, and there was blood in his mouth. “Since you decided you’d rather go shoot people than stay? Or maybe since you shot me in the head, huh?”

“I shot you _in the helmet_.” And, okay, maybe it wasn’t Frank’s best moment but he hadn’t been entirely in his right mind, okay? And Red knew it.

“That’s much better, sure. Do you know what it did to me? Do you?” They were close enough that Frank could see Matt’s chapped lips, see an old bruise on the left side of his face. Looked like there would be other bruises too, the way his fists were itching now. Red wanted a fight? He’d get one.

“You’re not any better than I am. You’re on your high horse with your bullshit lectures about justice, then Nelson has to pick up the slack because you’re not here. Rings any bells, Red?”

That was when Matt threw the first punch, straight into his stomach. Frank twisted and went for an elbow strike but Red had already danced away. He was light on his feet but heavy with his punches. Even if he wasn’t aiming to end him, he was definitely going for hurt and pain.

“You don’t like it, right?” Jab, jab, hook. “When you’re not as good as you think you are.”

“At least I’m not killing everyone!”

Shit, Frank hadn’t watched the feet enough and he got a kick in the kidneys. He rolled a little away and stood up. “Oh yeah? You’re a hypocrite, is what you are.”

Frank’s elbow hit right where Matt had been shot. Red staggered back, then kneed Frank in the stomach and clocked his ear. “Fuck you,” he panted. “Fuck you, Frank.”

“So what counts, Red: your intentions or the final result? Because if…” Frank almost got a fist in the gut but he’d seen that one coming; he stepped back in time so that it only glanced off the liver. “Oh yeah, hit me, go on, we all know how you hate the truth, right?” Frank shoved Red back with a foot to the thigh right when he was on the move. It threw his balance off and Frank used that to lay him flat on the roof and he pinned Matt down with a knee on the sternum.

“I know the truth.” He spat blood. “And the truth is, I don’t get to decide who lives or dies!”

Frank thought about the guy whose brains had splattered on the hospital floor. “And yet people die,” he said. Did Red know? Had anyone told him?

“I hate you,” Matt said.

“Oh yeah, that I can believe. You lied to me for months, you let me believe you didn’t recognize me, you played me!” He put a little more pressure on Matt’s chest, and he liked the snarl it got him. Fuck you, Red. “You said you’d be waiting and you didn’t, Red. You _didn’t._ ”

Frank was so angry he forgot for a moment how Matt could wiggle out of anything and shit, he managed to twist and kick and slither out and Frank didn’t even have time to stand before he got an even more enraged Red in his face. “I fucking did, and then you stayed away like everybody else!” Frank escaped a punch to the head that would have knocked him down to the concrete and probably given him a concussion from hell.

“Fuck you, Red. You didn’t get everyone you ever loved shot down in front of you, right? You didn't see them die watching you, begging you for help, did you?” Matt froze. Shit, no, Frank had gone too far. Because he had, in a way; he’d lost his girl twice, he’d heard his father die, he’d… goddammit.

“You're right, Frank. I didn’t. Your wife, your kids, they never left you. They didn’t _want_ to die. They didn't choose death over you.” The fist around Frank’s jacket loosened up. “Over life with you.” He stood up and started to walk away.

“Matt…”

“No.” Matt stopped, but didn’t turn back. “You're right, really. I didn't live what you lived. I didn’t get betrayed by my country, by my best friend; I didn’t see…” He shook his head. “Well, I didn't see much, did I. I can’t replace them.”

“No one can, Red. It’s not about replacing.” Frank got to his feet. “I shouldn't have said some of that.”

“Why not? You meant it.”

Yeah, he’d meant it. And so had Matt, he knew. They couldn’t and wouldn't take it back. Maybe it was better this way, more honest. “I miss them, you know? Every single day. But they’re never coming back, whatever I do.” Matt hadn’t moved yet, and Frank stepped closer. He could almost touch him now, but not quite. Not yet. “You’re hurt.”

Matt shrugged. “Happens.”

“It doesn’t have to. Not that much.”

“That why you got Melvin to make a new suit?”

“Don’t want you to get hurt.” And, shit. “Never said I was good at it.”

“Foggy says I must like it. Getting hurt.”

“He’s known you for a long time.”

Matt snorted. “He says it’s the Catholic in me.”

Nelson wasn’t wrong, Frank thought. “Look, uh. Offer’s still here. If you need a couple stitches or something.” He reached out, finally. Put a hand on Matt’s hip, felt him shudder. He didn’t move away.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And then you’ll go?”

“Sure. If you want me to.”

Matt’s fingers brushed his. “I don’t know yet.”

“Okay.”

“Lucy will be happy to see you,” Matt said.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Me too.”

 

The apartment felt very different from Frank’s last visit. Now he was coming in with Matt and getting an armful of dog as soon as he got down the stairs.

“Hey, girl. You been good?” He knelt and rubbed his hands all over her head and she pushed into his palms.

Matt took his mask off and hung it on the banister. “She always is.”

“Right.” Frank stood up and switched the light on, and Lucy settled in to watch over them from her rug. He touched Matt’s sweatshirt where the fabric was torn. “Can I?”

Matt didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, okay,” he finally said.

“I hope you buy these in bulk, Red.”

Matt’s lips quirked up. “I do, actually. Cheaper.”

Frank tore it off entirely and yes, of course. There was a large cut and three smaller ones. “What’s that? The fresh stuff.”

“Fell on broken glass.”

“It’s not too deep but should need a few stitches.” Frank gently prodded Matt on the couch and went to get his first aid kit and a couple towels in the bathroom. He washed his hands first and spotted Lucy’s brush next to Matt’s comb. It made him smile.

Matt had taken off his boots when he got back.

“Okay, I’m going to do about five, all right?” Frank opened the box, and sighed. “You're almost out of antiseptic.”

“Oh.” Matt didn’t seem to care.

Frank cleaned the area with a wipe and squeezed saline into the wounds to flush out whatever needed flushing out. It ran clear soon enough, and he opened a suture kit. “Couple new scars,” he said.

“Small ones.”

“Hm. Looking a bit thin.”

“Don’t mother hen me.”

“Bet there’s only beer and old takeout in your fridge, yeah?”

“ _Frank_.”

Well, he was pretty sure he was right, you know? He worked the needle and thread in silence. Matt never even flinched. “I’m done.”

“All right. Thank you. I’ll just…” He waved in the direction of the bathroom and stood up.

“Want me to cover it?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Frank taped plastic wrap over the cuts and watched Matt undress on autopilot, right here in the middle of the room, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Frank didn’t say anything and looked him over. A bit thinner, yes, but nothing too bad. He looked tired, a bit bruised.

“Want me to leave?” Frank finally asked.

“Oh.” Yeah, shit, he _had_ forgotten. He was asleep on his feet. “Yeah, no, I.”

“Or I can stay.”

“Sure.” Matt’s eyes were more or less aimed at Frank, blinking slowly. “Or, um. You can.” He held out his hand, and Frank didn’t ask any more questions.

They didn't linger in the shower, stayed just long enough to remove all the dirt and sweat from the evening before drying off and ending up in the bedroom.

“Stay?” Matt opened a drawer, and when he stood back up, sleep clothes Frank had left there more than a month ago dangled from his fingers. “You don’t have to.”

“I’d like to.” Frank took the clothes and put the shirt on. “Maybe I should take Lucy out first.”

“She’s not asking, is she?”

“No.” She was dozing on her rug after opening an eye to check they were still alive when coming out of the bathroom.

“We went out earlier, she should be fine.” Matt sat on the edge of the bed and seemed to hesitate. Frank put on the sweatpants and waited. “You know,” he finally said. “I slept better with you and Lucy than I ever did without.”

“But I left.”

“Yeah.”

“I tried to get away from you.”

“Ask Foggy or Karen,” Matt said. “I thought they’d be better off without me, I thought I should just be… just the fists. Let the devil out, burn everything else. I wasn’t even fully recovered. I was an idiot.”

“We both are, I guess.”

“Yeah, well. I think I had to go through it, you know? To really understand what I really had, if only I took what was offered.”

Frank went back into the main room to rummage into his jacket, and came back to put the rosary in Matt’s hand. “Here,” he said. He’d held on to it, but maybe he didn’t need to anymore.

“I’ll get you to come to mass one of these days.”

“Don’t push it, Red.”

Matt’s eyes crinkled, and it hit Frank how much he’d missed it. “Stay?”

“Yeah. Promise.”

The rosary beads clinked against each other. “You know, I thought… for a while, I thought you’d left because you were disappointed. Or, uh. I don’t know, that I wasn’t… That I’d gone too far.”

Frank cupped Matt’s skull. The curve of it was perfect in his palm, and Red’s head rested so easily against his stomach. He kept running his fingers through his hair. “Too far?”

“I killed that guy,” he said. “In the hospital. I thought something was wrong, and no one would say anything, but Zhang told me. Later.”

“You didn’t kill him. It was a freak accident.”

“Same difference, really. Could be argued to be manslaughter.” He sighed, a warm gust of hair against Frank’s stomach. “He died because of me.”

“Matt…”

“And the guard. Eriksson. He died because of me, too.” There was a little hitch in Matt’s breathing, then he went on. “I think… sometimes I think that it happens, that it happened before, that Eriksson was doing his job, that he knew the risks. And then sometimes I…”

Frank didn’t know what to do. What should he do? He couldn't tell him it would be all right, could he? He couldn't tell him a lie.

“I heard it, you know? I didn’t know what it was but I heard it, when his head… when his skull…”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Hey, you talk to Maggie?” Matt shook his head. “Your buddy Nelson? Karen?” Still no.

“Tell me it goes away,” he whispered. “Frank, please. I know it’s not true. Tell me anyway.”

Matt didn't want a lie, Frank knew. He wanted the lie to be true. “You learn to live with it, Red.”

“I don’t think I can.”

Frank knelt in front of him, resting his forehead on Matt’s. “Yes you can. You didn’t set out to kill them, did you? You’re too good for that.”

“I’m not. Frank, I’m not. You’re right, I’m a liar and a hypocrite and I thought…”

“What did you think?”

“I thought, now you knew.” Matt tried to pull away but Frank held on. Held him. “You knew what I really was, couldn’t stand the lies any longer, and… and so you stayed away.”

“Matt, no.”

“You hate liars.”

“I do.” Frank looked at Matt’s eyes when his head turned: red, puffy, but not crying. Stubborn, always. “You’re not a liar, Red. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not a killer.”

“I could be. Stick wanted me to be, Elektra – I wanted to, you know? So often. I wanted to. I almost killed Fisk, that time. I was this close.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Not then. Not those times.” Matt’s head pushed a little harder against Frank’s skull. “Stick said I was too soft. He was disappointed, said I didn’t have what it takes.”

“That’s a good thing, Matt. You don’t want to be me.”

“Now he’d say – ”

“I don’t care what he’d say. He was wrong.” Frank stood up to get on the bed and sit up against the wall. “Come here,” he said, a hand on Matt’s arm to let him know where he wanted him.

“Frank?”

“Come here.” He waited until Red, painfully slowly, so hesitant, finally let Frank lead him between his legs, his arms. He cradled him with all his body, like he used to with Lisa when she wouldn’t stop crying. Guided Matt’s head in the crook of his neck, kept some pressure on his back. “You know how I can tell when I fuck up?” he said once Matt was settled, keeping his voice low and even. “It’s when nothing hurts. Nothing is good or bad or anything at all. That’s not a life, Red. You don’t want the pain to stop, trust me.”

Claws clinked on the floorboards, and Frank saw Lucy poke her head in the bedroom. He patted the bed and she jumped behind Matt.

“You did what you had to, and you didn’t have a choice.” And if Frank had been there, it wouldn't have happened at all. “It was you or him. I’m glad it was you, Red. I’d have gone and killed him myself if…”

“Frank, no.”

“ _Yes_. Madani never told me who shot you, either, but I’ll find out. That’s how someone who kills with intent thinks.” Someone like Frank. Matt slipped a hand around his waist, and Frank kissed his head. “I’ll make anyone who hurts you pay,” he whispered. And he’d get Matt to trust him again, and be worthy of that trust.

Matt’s breathing evened out, and the fingers holding the rosary loosened slightly. Outside, it was as quiet as it ever got – some car traffic, a random shout. Inside, the only noise was Lucy’s occasional sigh.

“I went to his funeral,” Matt whispered.

“Huh?” So. Not sleeping, after all.

“Eriksson’s.” Matt’s stubble caught on Frank's shirt when he moved. “His family was very nice, you know? They were very nice to me. They said he’d sworn to protect the innocent, protect those who couldn’t defend themselves. They saw the cane and they…” Matt’s voice broke.

Shit. “Cane or no cane, Red. You’d almost died a couple days before.”

“And I killed another guy right after.”

“They don’t know that.”

“I do.” He pushed away from Frank and the outline of his head in the dark was the only thing Frank could see. “They thought he’d died guarding a poor blind guy who’d gotten shot, and I was a coward. I couldn't tell them the truth.”

“What truth? You’re blind. You got shot.” Frank slid his hands to Matt’s arms and squeezed. He wanted to shake him, shake some sense or maybe some peace into him.

“I’m not defenseless. I should have known where he’d fall, I should have pulled my punch, I…”

“And you’d be dead.” Frank breathed out. His hands were too tight on Matt’s biceps. “What if it had been your buddy Nelson? What would you tell him?”

“What?”

“If it had been Nelson in that room instead of you.”

“I…”

 _Fuck’s sake, Red._ Frank didn't want to hear any more of this bullshit. “You’re wrong, all right? Whatever you’re thinking.” If it had to be anyone’s fault, it would be Frank’s for leaving the room. But Eriksson had been doing his job and the other one had deserved to die, and Frank didn’t feel guilty at all about them. So Matt? Matt was wrong. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. Yeah.”

He pushed Matt down on his back and they disturbed Lucy. Frank heard the thump of her landing on the floor then tuned her out, focusing on Matt.

“Frank?”

“Shut up, Red.”

Fuck, he’d missed this – Matt wriggling and squirming against him, hooking a leg around him like the octopus he was, the slippery little shit that tried to get out from under Frank only because he liked nothing better than to be dragged back there and feel Frank’s weight on him, pinning him down. He was all breathy sighs and little _ohs,_ and Frank was pretty sure he could get him to make more noise. Matt’s fingers fumbled on his head, his face, trying and failing to find something to grip and anchor himself to.

“I know,” Frank said, and he caught Matt’s wrists and pinned them down over his head. “Don’t move.” One of Matt’s wrists still had the rosary twisted around it, and Frank made a loop over the half-curled fingers. “Don’t move, yeah?”

Matt didn’t answer but Frank could hear his quick breaths, see his eyes widen, his lips parted in the occasional burst of light from the billboard outside, illuminating the main room and trickling down to the bed. Frank pulled the zipper down on Matt’s sweatshirt, felt for the scars there on his chest, new and old.

“Frank, what…” He didn’t get it, he never did. But he was alive, and hard, and right there under him. Frank pushed down their pants a little.

“I got you,” he said. No one else ever saw Red like that, no one else touched him like that. Only Frank.

He tangled his fingers with Matt’s and the rosary, put weight on his forearm as he leaned over him and smiled against Matt’s neck when he felt him trying to escape his grip. Frank only put more weight, wrapped his free hand around Matt and yeah, he got him to make more noise.   

 

Dazed, post-coital Matt was one of Frank's favorites. And with his shirt open, his pants down, and the little golden cross around his neck, he looked even more debauched. _I did that,_ Frank thought. _Me._ “Don’t move,” he said again, and he went into the bathroom to get something to wipe them off. Well, mostly to wipe Matt off.

“You all right?” Frank asked when he was done.

“Mm.” Matt still hadn’t moved. The arms pulled up over his head did nice things to his chest. Frank gently removed the rosary from Matt’s hands and put it on the bedside table, then zipped the shirt closed.

“Come on, Red. Get in.”

Matt did, and he maneuvered rather clumsily until he was where he wanted to be, his head under Frank’s and a palm right over Frank’s heart. “Missed this,” he mumbled, patting his chest.

“Yeah.” Yeah, so had Frank. He slid a leg between Matt’s, a hand behind his skull, and settled in for what was left of the night.

 

Frank woke up early enough to walk the dog and buy breakfast, and they ate bagels in bed while Lucy did her best to convince them to share. (They didn't.)

“Stitches all right?” Frank asked.

“They’re fine. You’re almost as good as Maggie.”

 _Nothing like your mother's sewing_ , Frank didn’t say. “Want anything? Only food you got in here is Lucy’s.”

“You don’t have to do my shopping for me.”

“Someone’s got to.” Since he wasn’t doing it himself.

Matt only smiled into his coffee, and Frank shook his head. Fine then, Frank would pick whatever _he_ wanted. He left Matt puttering about in his apartment, stuffing last night’s salvageable clothes in the washing machine and putting away the first aid kit while Lucy gnawed on a chunk of rope. It was all terribly ordinary, the kind of ordinary men like Red and Frank usually didn’t get.

And of course, it couldn’t last. Fran’s radio was blaring next door and he didn’t hear the voices in Matt’s apartment as he fumbled the door open with his arms full of bags. Frank ended up with a gun in his face for his trouble.

“The fuck? Mahoney?” Frank slowly put the groceries on the floor. “I’m not armed,” he said.

The detective was standing in front of the couch, his weapon aimed at Frank. “You said your boyfriend was out shopping, Murdock,” he said. “You didn’t say it was _Frank fucking Castle_.” Lucy whined from behind the couch.

“Um. Brett.” Then Matt was all out of words, standing there behind the detective.

“Shit,” Mahoney said. “Was that you I talked to when their office was bombed?”

Frank rubbed his chin. “I shaved.”

“Pete Castiglione, my ass.”

“That’s what’s on my papers.” Frank looked at the gun, still aimed right between his eyes. “There’s, uh. Stuff I should put in the fridge.”

Mahoney lowered his hands but didn’t put his weapon back in its holster. “New career you got here? Mass murderer not paying well enough?”

“You want to arrest me?” Frank shrugged his jacket off, turned his back on Mahoney to go hang it near the front door, and went into the kitchen to start putting the groceries away. “You look like you’re going to bust a tooth, detective.”

“Brett, please,” Matt said.

“Damn, I should arrest you both.” Mahoney finally put his gun away.

“What for? Pete Castiglione hasn’t been charged with anything. I’d get him out the minute you try to put him in a cell and you know it.”

“And I guess your Homeland Security friend would make any charges disappear anyway, am I wrong?”

“Madani’s not my friend,” Frank said.

“Right.” Mahoney narrowed his eyes. “Matt. Does Foggy know?”

“Know what?”

“I swear to god…!” He threw his hands up. “Look, I just came here as a professional courtesy, but I bet you don’t need me to tell you about it, right?”

“Brett…” Matt said.

“Don’t you Brett me. I’d heard you were back in town, Castle. Heard about some shit that went down, that was all handled by your Homeland Security buddies. I wasn’t expecting _this_.” Mahoney glared at Matt. “He the reason you got shot?”

“He found me.”

“What the hell.” Mahoney sat down on the armchair and Red followed suit on the couch. “You know my mother was praying for you?”

“Bess is a sweetheart.”

“She busted my ass so I could get her in the hospital,” Mahoney said. “She wanted to bring you cookies, but those watchdogs wouldn’t let a little old lady go to your room. Does my mother strike you as a security risk, Matt? Does she? They wouldn’t let her in.”

“You know what happened, right?” Frank said as he got some coffee out of the cupboard and started making a fresh pot. “At the hospital. Threat was real.”

“I saw the hospital was stormed, yeah. Guess you were in the middle of it? You were lucky, Matt,” Mahoney added. “Those bruises will fade, but you got out alive.”

“Yeah, I was lucky.” Red sighed, and Lucy put her head on his knee. “Hey, girl,” he said.

“You want some?” Frank asked Mahoney as he poked at the coffee maker.

“Might as well.”

Frank got some mugs out. “So what did you come for, Detective?”

“Your little stint last night. Matt’s defending the kids and their families. It’s not real professional of me, but those bastards…”

“Yeah.”

“They said they were after you, but that you were working with Daredevil.” Mahoney eyed Matt. “You and Foggy worked with him, right? On Fisk.”

“We’ve met.”

Mahoney’s eyes stopped for a moment over Matt’s mask still hanging from the banister, but he didn’t seem to find it too strange yet. Maybe he thought this was Vigilante Central.

“Right. Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads-up,” he said. “You should get the Braille transcripts this afternoon, if you go to the Midtown South precinct. I told them to make it quick.”

“All right. Thanks, Brett.”

Frank brought the coffees and settled on the couch next to Matt. “I wanted to kill them.”

“Why didn’t you, then?” Mahoney asked.

“As you said. Wasn’t working alone.”

“Vigilantes, right.” Lucy padded to the detective and nosed his hand until he scratched behind her one ear. “Guess you don’t all have the same rule book, right?”

“Right. Come on, girl, let him be. We’ll go to the park later, promise.” She huffed and went into the bedroom.

“Sweet dog,” Mahoney said. “What happened to her?”

“Came to the shelter like that,” Frank said.

“So you really do work for a shelter?”

“Yeah.”

“Want a dog, Brett?” Matt said.

“Nah. No time to care for one.”

And then Lucy trotted back into the room holding one of Red’s batons between her teeth, the thigh holster dangling from it. Shit.

“What…” Mahoney said. He was frowning. Fuck.

Frank knelt to take the baton out of her mouth and shook his head at Mahoney. “No, Lucy, the detective doesn’t want to play with you.” If he said anything… “Leave the man be, yeah?”

“She likes you, I think. She’ll bring you toys until you cave in.” Matt smiled, oblivious. His shirt rode up a little when he stretched to put his mug on the table and a couple stitches were visible now. Fuck. “You afraid of dogs, Brett?”

“No,” Brett choked out. His eyes went from the baton, to the banister, to Matt.

“You don’t sound all right.”

“Allergies.”

“Oh, well. Must be dog hairs everywhere.”

“Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t stay, then. I’ll walk you out,” Frank said. “Forgot to buy something earlier.” Frank stuck the baton in his belt before standing up and turning around. He hoped Red wouldn’t sense it. “I’ll be quick.”

Matt looked a little surprised, but he shrugged and said, “Okay. Don’t arrest him, Brett, all right?”

“Who would stock your fridge if I did, uh? You tell Foggy I said hi when you see him.”

“Will do.”

Mahoney followed Frank out of the apartment looking a bit shell-shocked, and didn’t say anything until they were out in the street. “Tell me I didn’t see what I saw.”

“What do you think you saw?”

“He can’t be. He’s blind!” Mahoney stopped. “Unless he isn’t.”

“He is.”

“Dammit. I should arrest you both, and then Foggy, and then my mother would disown me, and – fuck.”

“Why would you arrest Nelson?”

“He knows, right? He has to.”

Frank shrugged. “Well then. Go on. Arrest your buddy. You do what you gotta do.”

“And what then? All the cases they’ve worked on, all the people they’ve helped, all the trials – it’s all shot down to hell. I can’t do that.” Brett sighed. “I should.”

“But you won’t.”

“No.”

“And your mother would disown you.”

“That, too.”

“I think I like her.”

“Everybody likes her: she’s a sweetheart with everyone but me.”

Frank smiled. “Yeah, I know the type.”

“Yours like that?”

“My wife’s.”

“Oh.” Mahoney stopped at his car, hands in his pockets. Frank was glad he didn’t ask anything else about that. He didn’t need anyone’s pity. “Look,” Mahoney said. “I’ve known Matt for a good long while. Not well, obviously, but... Damn, how could I miss it? I walked into a door, my ass. How many times did I fall for that?”

“You’re not the only one.”

“Yeah, the poor blind guy routine. Thing is, I’ve always known it was bullshit, you know? First time I met him, he was fresh out of his orphanage. Foggy had dragged him home to his parents and we were neighbors, he and I. I think the Nelsons adopted him right there and then. He never asked for help, he never was clumsy, he didn’t need anyone and he made sure we knew it. It always made him so angry, when people looked down on him.”

“Hasn’t changed much.”

“Yeah, well. He wasn’t bashing heads in, in those days.”

“You sure about that?”

“Shit. He was?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Yeah, true.” Mahoney sighed. “And here I am, aiding and abetting vigilantes. Should turn my badge in.”

“Don’t. You’re one of the good ones. Not enough of those.”

“Oh well. If _you_ think so.”

“I do.”

“Oh, great. Just what I needed, validation from you.”

“Take it or leave it, Mahoney.” He’d meant it. If the guy didn’t like it, it was all the same to Frank.

“Castle.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a killer.”

“Yeah.”

“How does it work? With him.”

“I don’t know. It works.” Most of the time.

Mahoney opened his car and leaned on the door. “I’m going to regret this, right? I should arrest you both, and I can’t. Damn, this is all Foggy’s fault, I swear.”

“Eh, Nelson’s a decent guy.”

“Yeah, whatever. Gonna make me turn gray before my time. Say,” Brett added as he sat behind the wheel. “Was that you on that photo? Kissing on top of that gay bar. Made the rounds at the precinct, that one did. Money’s riding on whether it’s actually Daredevil or not.”

Frank slammed the car door on that stupid grin and watched Mahoney drive away before heading to the pharmacy. He _had_ forgotten to buy more antiseptic, after all.

 

When he got back, Matt was listening to something on his computer.

“Got you more wipes,” Frank said. “For your first aid kit.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Matt removed the earbud. “Brett feeling better?”

“Yeah, he got something at the pharmacy too.”

“Didn’t know he had allergies.”

“Yeah, well.” Frank went into the bedroom and put the baton back near its twin. “Matt,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You still have Potter’s suit, right? The new one?” He heard Matt set the computer on the table before joining him.

“I do.”

Frank slid a hand under Matt’s shirt until he reached the stitches he’d made yesterday. They felt warmer than the skin around them, but not hot enough that it was worrying. “Will you wear it?”

“Frank…” Matt’s hand covered his. “Why did you have it made?”

“You take risks. And you’re not wearing the stuff I got you before.”

“I was just… angry.”

“And now?”

“What about you, Frank?”

“Me?”

“At most, you’re wearing a vest.”

“I’m not getting up close and personal with armed people several nights a week.” Frank put some pressure on the stitches and it made Red hiss. And then push back into it, because he wasn’t afraid of the pain. And _that_ frightened Frank. “I know you’re strong, I know you’re good, but…”

“You worried?”

“What do you think?” He’d tried not to be, and he’d been so successful at it he’d gone to Potter. “I can’t – if something happens to you. I’m going after them. I’ll find them and I’ll…”

“Frank. Frank, no.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I know. I know, you already proved it, yeah?” Matt’s arms were around him, pulling his head down to rest against his shoulder. “All right, all right, I’ll wear it just so you have less people to go through, okay? Just to make it easier on you.” Frank wanted to laugh but he found his throat was too tight. He was terrified. Terrified of what could happen, of what he’d do. What he’d become. He’d seen what he turned into, when he lost – people. He’d seen it more than once.

“Red,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Potter knows what he’s doing, right?” Frank’s hands flattened on Matt’s stomach. It was taut and scarred, and fear gripped him again. “It’ll let you move as you like, uh?”

“What I’m wearing now lets me move as I like.”

“You’re basically wearing underwear.” Not that it wasn’t nice to watch, but goddammit. “It doesn’t protect you.”

“Underwear is comfortable,” Matt said with a little laugh. He pushed Frank until he sat on the bed and straddled his lap. “But I’ll wear it, promise.”

“Good.” Frank was breathing a little easier now. A lot easier. “Just have to find out who shot you.”

“You won’t have to.”

Frank grabbed Matt’s shoulder and pushed him a little away. “What?”

“Agent Madani told me. He’s dead, Frank.”

“ _Who_?”

“Eriksson. He was part of the team who got first into the basement. He was the one that got me. They didn’t know who it was, Frank. They didn’t know I was there.”

“But he was still assigned to guard your room.”

“He asked to, apparently.”

“He paid for it, then.”

“More than he should. I lived, he didn’t.”

“It was his job. Yours is to stay alive, Matt. You hear me?”

“Yours too.”

“Okay. Yeah, all right.” Frank pulled Matt back to him, kissed his forehead, his nose, his mouth. Red made him feel pain, he made him bleed red, and as long as he was alive Frank was, too. “I’ll take everyone down with me if anything happens to you, yeah?”

“No, Frank – ”

“Then don’t die.”

“Okay,” Red said. His hands were already under Frank’s shirt. “Okay.”

Then he didn’t say anything for a while.


End file.
